The Crush
by allthingsdecent
Summary: S7: Ali comes back to the hospital as a candy striper and immediately wreaks havoc on House and Cuddy's relationship.
1. Chapter 1

The Crush

There were certain days where it seemed like the hospital was a giant game of whack-a-mole: as soon as Cuddy resolved one crisis, another one popped up.

But today had been blissfully uneventful—PPTH was running like a well-oiled machine—and Cuddy strode through its halls feeling pretty darn good about herself.

She took note of a candy striper wheeling a (gleaming) cart of medical supplies down the hall. Even the candy stripers looked prettier today, she thought—their uniforms crisper, their hair shinier. Then she stopped, looked again.

"Ali?" she said, startled.

The girl looked up: It was, indeed, Ali Swanson, the teenager who had taken her school girl crush on House to an obsessive and possibly even dangerous level. What the hell was she doing here? In a candy striper uniform? At _her_ hospital?

"Dr. Cuddy, I was hoping to run into you!" the girl said, cheerfully. "I just wanted to thank you so much for giving me a chance. I assumed that, after our—well, you know—_history,_ you wouldn't let me work here and I'm just so grateful that you did."

Cuddy gaped at her. Hire this crazy girl? She had done no such thing!

Then it dawned on her: Joan Sanders, the head of nursing, had given her a bunch of new employment files to approve yesterday. She had scanned them, briefly, and signed. Joan's personnel decisions were always impeccable. She must have seen Ali's name, not recognized it, and blithely signed of.

"I'm just so glad that you didn't let my reckless behavior as a 17-year-old cloud your judgment," Ali was saying. "I'm a different person now, much more responsible. According to Dr. House, it wasn't even me, anyway—it was these spore things." Then, with a wink: "Although I do wish I could blame all my inappropriate teenage behavior on spores, if you know what I mean."

Ali was trying to talk to her, woman to woman. But she couldn't have been more than 21, and still looked as nubile and fresh faced as she had 4 years ago.

Cuddy collected herself. There was really nothing she could do about it now.

"Well, just work hard, keep things professional, steer clear of Dr. House and I'm sure we'll be fine," she said, without warmth.

"I will, Dr. Cuddy! I'll make you proud. And thanks again, for the opportunity."

Cuddy strode away, continuing her round of the hospital. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, she told herself. The girl did seem contrite. And Joan was usually an excellent judge of character.

But she had to admit it: Her run-in with Ali had pretty much ruined her day.

#####

A few hours later, House was trying to nap in the clinic—his long legs stretched across two chairs, the latest _Guardians of the Galaxy_ comic book shading his face—when a girlish female voice said: "So Dr. House, we meet again."

House started a bit. Then tilted to his head slightly, from under the comic book, to see where the voice was coming from. The red and white uniform: A new candy striper. House allowed his gaze to work its way up her form (hey, he was in love, not dead): Nice legs, decent rack, great skin, but way too skinny. Then he got to her face.

"Ali?" he said. He popped up so fast, the comic book slid off his face and fell to the ground.

"You remember me!" she sang.

"You're, uh, pretty hard to forget," he said. "What are you doing here? Are you a stripper posing as candy striper?"

"I work here, you naughty boy!" Ali said, flirtily.

"Dr. Cuddy hired you?" he said, in disbelief.

"She did. I guess she believes I second chances."

House scratched his head, thought about that for a second. "I guess she does," he said.

"So. . .I'm 21 now," Ali said, doing a little spin. "Do you like how I've grown up?"

"You're as easy on the eyes as ever," he said, truthfully.

"I'm easy in other ways, too."

"Still shy, I see," he cracked.

"I can be shy," she said, coquettishly biting her finger. "If that's what you're into."

"Gross," he said.

"In that case, I can be whatever you want me to be," she said, in a vampy, come-hither voice.

"Ali, you haven't changed one bit!" he said.

"Oh, I've changed a lot. In all the best ways. Why don't let me buy you a drink tonight after work and show you."

"No can do," House said.

She pouted at him.

"Tomorrow night?"

"Negative."

"Friday then?"

"Sorry."

"Well, when can you get a drink?" Her hands on her hips. A bit of teenage petulance had crept back into her voice.

"See the thing is, Ali, _my girlfriend_ keeps me kind of busy these days," House said.

Now her face turned red.

"Your girlfriend?" she said.

"Ya," he said.

"Is it, like, serious?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but very."

"Is she a doctor here at the hospital?"

"Now that is _definitely_ none of your business," House said.

"And you're totally, like, faithful to her?"

"Like, totally."

Ali folded her arms.

"We'll see about that," she said, with the confidence of a girl who knew that men found her alluring.

House stood up, grabbed his cane.

"Ali, there are plenty of other older men at this hospital for you to creepily obsess over. I just happen to not be one of them Might I suggest Chris Taub?"

######

That night, in bed, Cuddy turned to him, tried to keep her voice casual: "You'll never guess who Joan Sanders hired as a candy striper," she said.

Crap. He'd been hoping to put off this conversation for at least a few days.

"Ali?" he said.

She turned on the light on the nightstand, surprised.

"You saw her?"

"She came into the clinic when I was, uh, diligently treating a patient."

"I specifically told her to avoid you!"

"Then she specifically chose to ignore you."

"Did she say anything?" Cuddy asked.

House gave a half-shrug.

"She wanted to buy me a drink."

"That little nymphet!" Cuddy said, shaking her head. "She lied to my face. What did you say to her?"

"Is it 11 o'clock?" House said, pretending to get out of bed. "Because I better get dressed. I'm meeting her at Sullivan's in an hour."

Cuddy gave him a death stare and he laughed nervously.

"Christ, I'm kidding," he said, putting his arms protectively around Cuddy and kissing her forehead. "What do you think I said to her? I told her I was unavailable—for drinks, or anything else."

"You sure?" Cuddy said.

"Of course, I'm sure."

"She's 21, gorgeous, and still, apparently, obsessed with you. She's dangerous."

"Maybe to herself. Maybe to society. Not to me. And most definitely not to us." He kissed her on the mouth, then nibbled on her ear, trying to distract her.

"Even I can see that she's desirable," Cuddy said.

"_You're_ desirable," House said huskily, kissing her throat, getting worked up.

"Don't humor me," Cuddy said.

"I'm not!" he protested. "Girls like Ali are a dime a dozen. Go to any college campus across American and you'll find one. You, on the other hand, are a rare jewel."

"A rare jewel, huh?" Cuddy snorted, slightly mollified.

"Like the Hope Diamond," he said, kissing her cleavage.

"Just behave around her," Cuddy said.

"As long as I can misbehave around you," he said, burrowing under the covers and kissing her inner thigh.

"Now _that_ I encourage," she sighed, arching her back and moaning a bit as his mouth made its way between her legs.

######

A few days later, House and Cuddy were having lunch in the cafeteria when Ali materialized beside their table.

"Hello Dr. House. Dr. Cuddy," she said. She had a way of making even the most innocuous remark sound suggestive. "May I join you?"

"Ali, it's not appropriate for a candy striper to join the Dean of Medicine and the Head of Diagnostics when they're having lunch," Cuddy said.

"Sorry," Ali said. "Just being friendly."

"No need to be friends," Cuddy said. "Just do your job."

Ali gave a leading look to House, hoping he was going to defend her.

"What she said," House said.

Ali pouted again, began to walk away, then stopped.

"It's her!" she said, getting it. "Dr. Cuddy is your girlfriend!"

She smirked a bit.

"Everything is so much clearer now," she said.

"What's clear?" House said, as Cuddy shot him a "don't engage her" look.

"Why Dr. Cuddy was so jealous of my. . .intentions toward you."

"I wasn't jealous, Ali. I was upholding the law—both of this hospital and of the State of New Jersey."

"You locked me in your office!"

"Better that than a holding cell in Trenton," Cuddy said.

"You managed to conveniently interrupt every time I was actually getting someplace with him."

"Hey, hey, hey," House said, holding up a hand defensively, and glancing nervously at Cuddy. "There was no _getting_ anywhere with me. That was strictly in your spore-fevered imagination."

"This actually makes sense," Ali said, surveying them. "Why shouldn't two sexy older people be together?"

"_Older_?" Cuddy said, irritably.

"You should look so good when you're Dr. Cuddy's age," House said.

"Oh, I agree," Ali said, sizing her up. "Dr. Cuddy is hot."

Something in her voice suggested she would be game for a threesome.

"I approve of this relationship," Ali said.

"Oh thank _God,_" Cuddy said.

"Enjoy your lunch, lovebirds," Ali said.

And she sashayed away.

######

A few days later, House was in the hospital men's room, washing his hands, when Ali slipped into the room, locking the door behind her.

"Are you out of your mind?" House said. "Wait, dumb question. We've already clearly established that you are."

"I can never find a place to be alone with you," she said, hopping up on the sink.

"Why, pray tell, do you need to be alone with me?"

"So we can talk and. . .other things," she said.

"What part of, 'I have a serious girlfriend' don't you understand?"

"I get it. Dr. Cuddy is beautiful and classy and great. But man can't live by caviar alone."

"Trust me. Dr. Cuddy is a veritable buffet table."

Ali raised her eyebrows.

"You have to admit it, you're getting a little hot knowing that it's just the two of us here in this bathroom."

"Nope," he said breezily.

She reached out for the top of his jeans.

"Just the idea that I could unsnap your jeans and pull out your cock and give you a mind-blowing blowjob at any moment and no one would ever have to know about it—it must be drivng you crazy."

"No," he said, matter-of-factly. "It's not."

She licked her lips, unbuttoned his top snap, bent toward him.

"Okay, play time is over," he said, picking up her off the sink counter and placing her squarely down on the floor. (Of course, Ali acted like this was some sort of foreplay.)

"I love a man who plays hard to get. Emphasis on hard."

Much to her dismay, though, House didn't seem the slightest bit aroused by her handiwork.

"Ali, it's not sexy. It's not cute. It's just kind of sad. Get help."

"_You_ get help!" she retorted.

"Good comeback. Can we leave now?"

He unlocked the door, they exited the bathroom and, much to his horror, bumped right into Cuddy.

"What the hell is she doing in there?" Cuddy said.

"She got confused," House said, shooting Ali a look. "She thought it was the ladies' room. But she assures me she'll never make that mistake again."

"Ali, what did I tell you about behaving yourself like an adult and leaving Dr. House alone?" Cuddy said.

"It was an honest mistake, Dr. Cuddy," Ali said. "I'm new here. The doors look similar."

"All doors look similar," Cuddy said. "That's why you read the sign on the door. This one says: Men."

"Got it," Ali said. "Men. _Duh_. I see it now. My bad."

"Ali, consider this your second strike. Three strikes you're out."

"What was my first strike?"

"Seeking out Dr. House in the clinic."

"He told you about that?"

"Dr. House tells me everything."

Ali's eyes danced mischievously

"Not everything," she said, skipping off.

At that exact moment, both House and Cuddy noticed that his jeans were unsnapped.

"Oh shit," House said, closing it. "It's not what you think.".

"I think she tried to take off your pants and you rejected her," Cuddy said.

"Okay, it is what you think," House said.

He studied her for a moment.

"You really believe me?" he said.

"I do," she said. Then sighed. "I need to fire her don't I?"

"Probably. But before you do that: I'm a dude who just rejected an afternoon blow job from a super hot 21-year-old. It seems to me that the least my beautiful girlfriend can do is reward my good behavior."

Cuddy looked at him, snorted.

"No chance," she said.

House shrugged.

"It was worth a shot."

#####

Cuddy called Ali into her office.

"I'm afraid you leave me not choice but to let you go," she said.

Ali's lower lip began to quiver.

"But why?"

"You know why. You've been harassing Dr. House."

"No, I haven't! I told you! I went into the men's room by accident!"

"That doesn't ring true."

"But it is!"

"And then you locked the door?"

"I always lock the door when I go to the bathroom!"

"You unbuttoned his pants! And …propositioned him!"

"I did not!"

"Then how did his pants get unbuttoned?"

"He just came out of the bathroom. It's not exactly a stretch that his fly might be open."

"That's not what he says happened."

"He's confused. He likes to flatter himself into thinking I still have the hots for him."

"I don't think that's it."

"He misunderstood my intentions."

"I don't believe you, Ali."

"So you believe him over me!"

"Yes."

"Of course you do. He's your boyfriend."

"I've seen you harass him with my own eyes."

"And I promised I'd stop! And I did! I swear it was a misunderstanding! Nothing happened! You said I only had two strikes! I get one more strike!"

"That was before I knew about your behavior in the men's room."

"You can't fire me! I need this job! My parents cut me off. I have no other way to make money!"

Ali's face crumpled into a mask of tears. Mascara streaked down her cheeks.

Cuddy looked at her. She'd had nurses–and even some doctors—crying in her office many times before and was generally unmoved. After all, her job wasn't to be everyone's best friend, it was to run the hospital. But Ali's crying was particularly pathetic, almost childlike. And, it was true, she _had_ promised the girl three strikes.

"Okay," Cuddy said. "But I'm serious now. This is it. Your absolute last chance."

Ali abruptly stopped crying, wiped her eyes.

"Thank you, Dr. Cuddy," she said, in a sweet voice. "I promise, I'll be good."

"Yeah, I've heard that song before."

#####

Ali's strike three came a mere three nights later. Cuddy was working late—a "State of the Hospital" board meeting.

House decided to spend the night at his own apartment, a rarity these days.

He was actually relishing the chance to drink some scotch, listen to his own music—not that insipid Phinneas and Ferb, which was all they seemed to listen to at Cuddy's place—and even play a little piano.

He was three scotches in—and feeling no pain—when there was a knock at his door.

He immediately assumed it was Cuddy—and got a little excited; they hadn't had sex at his place in months. (The last time they did it, she had let herself in with his spare key to surprise him. When he got home, she was lying on his bed, wearing nothing but a red thong and high heels. "I'm the luckiest fella alive," he had said, diving for her.)

"I hope you're wearing your red thong," he said now, eagerly, opening the door.

"Actually, it's white," Ali purred.

House's face fell.

"You're not who I was expecting," he said, equal parts disappointed and annoyed.

"Surprise!" she said, ironically.

"How'd you even know I was here?"

"I sometimes drive past your apartment."

"_Sometimes_?"

"Okay, every night. Anyway, I saw your bike. . Can I come in?"

"Absolutely not."

"Pleeeeeease."

"No."

She set her jaw a bit.

"If you don't let me in, I'll start screaming."

He sighed, rolled his eyes a bit, gestured for her to come in.

"Leave now, Ali. Or I call Dr. Cuddy and this is your third strike and the gig is up."

"I don't care about that job. I just care about us."

"There is no us."

"That's because you won't even give me a chance."

"Ali, I love my girlfriend. And even I didn't, you're not my type."

"I'm all men's type," she said.

"Not mine."

"I'm pretty sure I could change your mind," she said. "If you just let me try." And she began to unbutton her shirt. Naturally, she wasn't wearing a bra.

He grabbed her by the wrists, hard.

"Ali, cut it the fuck out or I won't just call Dr. Cuddy, I'll call the cops."

Because he was gripping her rather tightly and because his face was contorted in genuine anger—for the first time, she seemed to realize that he wasn't playing around.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked, terrified.

"I will, if you promise to get out of my apartment and leave me the fuck alone."

"Okay, okay…I promise."

"No more finding me in the clinic. No more locking yourself into the men's room with me. And definitely no more coming by my apartment at night. Stay out of my life. Got it?"

"Got it," she said, her shoulders slumping.

He let go of her wrists.

"Go find a nice young boyfriend who will want to fuck your brains out. It shouldn't be that hard."

She jut out her lip.

"All I wanted to do was give you a little pleasure. You don't have to be so mean about it," she said.

"I don't want anything you have to give," he said. "Now get the hell out of here."

"You're a real jerk, you know that?"

"And you're a raging psychopath."

She gave him one last mournful look and left.

When he was alone, he poured himself another glass of scotch.

He was torn. He never wanted to lie to Cuddy, but he thought, in this case, it might be the path of least resistance. For one thing, his natural instinct was not to be a narc—he wasn't the kind of guy who got other people fired, no matter how irritating or deluded they were.

Also, Cuddy had been trusting enough to believe him when he emerged from the bathroom with his pants unsnapped. But if she found out that Ali had been alone with him in his apartment? She might not be quite as understanding.

He decided the best thing to do was leave well enough alone. Ali had gotten the message this time. The scared look on her face made that perfectly clear. The best thing for all parties involved was to put it behind them.

######

The next day, House was conducting a DDx with his team when an orderly came in.

"Dr. Cuddy needs to see you in her office. Right now," he said.

House frowned. This was unusual.

"She's insatiable," he cracked to his team, pretending not to be concerned.

He limped quickly down the hall.

When he got to her office, she was sitting behind her desk, looking upset.

The hospital lawyer was there, as well as the head of HR, and another well dressed woman, who also looked to be a lawyer.

"This looks serious," House said. "I'll come back later."

"House, this concerns you," Cuddy said.

"If this is about the hospital dress code again, I promise to start tucking in my shirt…"

"Ali Swanson filed a formal complain against you and the hospital this morning," Cuddy said. Her demeanor might've seemed composed to an outsider. But he knew her well enough to know that she was very upset.

He scratched his chin.

"What kind of complaint?"

"She says that you had a sexual relationship that ended a few years ago and that, since then, you've been sexually harassing her."

To be continued. . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so obviously I know jack shit about sexual harassment law in New Jersey, or anywhere else for that matter. I'm sure this isn't even close to proper protocol. Hope you can suspend your disbelief and enjoy all the same. – atd**

**p.s. Happy birthday, flippet!**

The woman who looked like a lawyer was, in fact, Ali's lawyer and she laid out her client's case.

Ali admitted that she had, indeed, had a school girl crush on House. She even admitted that the crush got a little obsessive. But, according to her statement, House had shared her affections and the only thing keeping him from consummating their romance was her age.

"She said he would go into elaborate detail about the things he wanted to do to her when she turned 18," the lawyer, whose name was Janet Boyd, said.

"What? That is a bald-faced lie!" House said.

"Dr. House, you'll have your chance," Boyd said.

She continued: When Ali turned 18, she commenced a one-month affair with Dr. House. Ali described their sex life as insatiable. "He couldn't get enough of me," she stated.

But college beckoned—and although House begged her not to go—she moved on. She told House that, much as she cared for him, the nature of their relationship was inherently ephemeral.

"This is already clearly bullshit because Ali doesn't know the meaning of the word ephemeral," House muttered—and Cuddy shot him a look.

Once Ali got to college, House would call her every day, sometimes several times a day—always from a pay phone to cover his tracks—begging her to return. Finally, she told him she had a serious boyfriend at college and the phone calls stopped.

Ali's scholarship money ran out and she was forced to drop out of college. Her desire to be a nurse, or even a doctor, was thwarted but she hoped to at least get an entry level position, as a candy striper. Money was tight: So when PPTH offered her the job, she had no choice but to accept.

"Of course," House said. "This was the only hospital anywhere in _all_ of New Jersey that would hire her. Makes perfect sense."

"In case you hadn't noticed," Janet Boyd said. "We're in a recession."

"Go on," House said. "I can't wait to hear what happens next in this _complete work of fiction_."

Boyd continued with her story:

When Ali got to PPTH she immediately sought out House, in the clinic, to make sure they were on the same page: That their relationship would be strictly professional, with no consideration of their past romance. He agreed, at first—and Ali believed him, as she knew he was now in a committed relationship with Dr. Cuddy. But he began making increasingly inappropriate comments to her—telling her how hot she looked, how much he missed having sex with her, how much he fantasized about her.

One day, he grabbed her, pulled her into the men's room and demanded that she orally service him. He said he would tell Dr. Cuddy that she was the one who came onto him if she didn't comply. She managed to escape the bathroom before it went any further.

When Dr. Cuddy inquired about what went on the bathroom, Ali admitted she lied. She's not a liar by nature, but despite it all, she didn't want to get House in trouble, as she felt partially responsible for his sexual obsession.

"I was the one who started it," she stated. "But he was the one who couldn't let go."

"Do I have to stay for this?" House said. "Because this is beyond ridiculous."

"I'm afraid so," the HR guy said.

Janet Boyd continued with Ali's story: It all came to a head the previous night: House cornered Ali at the hospital and said they needed to talk. He wasn't going to be able to move on if they couldn't at least have one face-to-face conversation, away from the hospital. Dr. Cuddy was at a late night board meeting, he explained, so it would just be the two of them. He promised her that if she came to his apartment, and let him say his piece, he would never bother her again.

"My client is just 21 years old," Janet Boyd said. "Naïve perhaps and overly trusting. So she went."

House had his head in his hands. He was shaking his head.

When Ali got to House's apartment he was already drunk and in an agitated state. He begged her to stay with him, make love to him, because he still loved her, would always love her. At one point, when she tried to leave, he grabbed her tightly by the wrists.

"My client actually has tiny red marks on her wrists from where he grabbed her," Boyd said, procuring a cellphone camera.

"Save it for court," the PPTH lawyer said, angrily.

"Oh, he speaks!" House said, sarcastically.

Ali tried to reason with House, but he was inconsolable. He kept threatening to go to Dr. Cuddy, get her fired. Ali said that if he didn't let go of her, she was going to scream. So he did. When Ali left his apartment, she knew she had to file this complaint.

"And that's where we are now," Boyd said.

House broke into a slow clap. Everyone looked at him.

"That's quite an elaborate tale she has spun," he said. "I have to give the girl credit. I had no idea her imagination was so vivid."

"Dr. House is lucky my client is only suing for sexual harassment, not sexual abuse," Boyd said. "Because he clearly crossed a line."

"Do I get to talk now?" House said. "Is it my turn?"

"Go ahead," they all said.

"Every single word of that is a lie."

"Every word?" Boyd said. "So she wasn't at your apartment last night?"

He grit his teeth.

"No, she was."

"And you didn't grab her wrists?"

"I did—but only after she—"

"And did she threaten to scream?"

"Yes but only if I didn't—"

"Sure sounds like most of the words weren't lies, Dr. House."

House's mouth dropped open.

"I can counter sue, right? Because she has this whole thing twisted. She's the one who's been sexually harassing me! Dr. Cuddy knows. Tell them!"

Everyone turned to Cuddy, who was looking a little peaked.

"That is my understanding of the situation, yes," she said.

"_Understanding_?" House said. "It's not an understanding! It's the truth! The truth you've seen with your own eyes."

"I believe that Dr. House is telling the truth and that, indeed, Ali is the one sexually harassing him," Cuddy said, cautiously.

"Because powerless 21 year old candy stripers are always sexually harassing 51 year old doctors," Boyd said.

"Objection!" the PPTH lawyer said.

"We're not in court," the HR guy reminded him.

The PPTH lawyer turned to House: "You can counter sue, but it might seem retaliatory—and it might turn the review panel against you. My advice to you would be to let the case play out. The truth does tend to prevail in these sorts of things."

House eyed Cuddy, who nodded.

"Forgive me if I'm less than confident in the system," House said. "But alright. We'll do it your way. So what's the next step?"

"No complaint has been filed with the state of New Jersey, so we're going to handle this internally, like any other sexual harassment case. We'll set an independent review board and both sides will make their cases. If Dr. House is proven to be guilty, he'll be terminated and reported to the American Medical Association, as per protocol. If Ali is proven to be lying, she'll be terminated."

"So I stand to lose my job, my medical license and my standing in the community and she stands to lose…a minimum wage job?" House said.

"That's the way the system works, I'm afraid," the HR guy said.

"Well the system is fucking stupid then," House said.

"We'll set the trial date for 10 days from now, so both sides can gather evidence and prepare their cases," HR guy said. "In the meantime, obviously Dr. House and Ali can't work in the same environment. Dr. House will be placed on 10 day paid leave."

"_Me?_ Why not her?"

"Because she's the alleged victim here," the HR guy said.

"That crazy bitch is trying to ruin my life," House said, almost to himself.

"Crazy bitch," Janet Boyd repeated, writing it down. "Keep talking, Dr. House. Keep talking."

"Is this meeting over?" Cuddy said, looking around the room.

"We're through," the HR guy said. "I'll get back to you all on the details of the hearing."

"Good. Now everyone clear out," Cuddy said. "I want to talk to Dr. House alone."

"That's not advisable," the PPTH lawyer said.

"Not advisable?" Cuddy said. "He's my employee. And my boyfriend."

"But if you're seen consorting with each other, it could give the sense that he has undue influence over you," the HR guy said.

"At work, we keep it professional," Cuddy said. "At home, we keep it personal. This situation is an obvious intersection of the two."

"All the more reason to keep your distance," the PPTH lawyer repeated.

"I'll take my chances. Now everyone—out! And close the door behind you."

The suits got up and left, until it was just House and Cuddy alone in her office.

There was a long silence. They could hear the clock on her bookshelf ticking, like a bomb.

"What a fucking mess," House said finally.

Cuddy glared at him, but said nothing.

"What?" he said. Then, with horror: "You didn't actually believe any of that?"

"Was Ali at your apartment last night?" she said, barely able to control her anger.

He bowed his head.

"Yes."

"And you didn't think it was a good idea to tell me that?"

"She tried to make the moves on me, again. I told her she was delusional. I yelled at her. Told her to stay away or I'd call the cops. I thought…I thought I had taken care of it."

"And you grabbed her wrists?"

"To keep her from taking her shirt off!"

Now it was Cuddy's turn to put her head in her hands.

"Christ," she said.

"Cuddy," House said. "You've got to believe me. I've never laid a hand on that girl—well, uh, except for the grabbing-her-wrists thing. But you know what I mean. Nothing sexual has transpired between us. Ever."

"You wanted her four years ago," Cuddy said. "You knew it was the wrong thing so you didn't act on it. But you wanted her."

"She was temptation put directly in my path. Yes. Men are idiots, you said so yourself. But I would never act on it. You know me Cuddy. You know I wouldn't do that."

He looked at her earnestly.

"Do I know that?" Cuddy said. "You've patronized hookers. There are all sorts of unsavory aspects to your personality that I choose not to think of."

"You know it because I'm telling you," he said, his gaze meeting hers. "Cuddy, I really need you to be on my side for this. They've already beaten me if I don't have you on my side."

"I just really wish you had told me about last night," she grumbled.

"In hindsight, so do I," he said.

She sighed.

"But of course I believe you," she said.

"Thank God."

Cuddy gave a slightly bitter laugh.

"Why does trouble always seem to find you, House?" she said.

"It's a gift," he said. Then he scratched his head: "So how do we get me back on the job right away? No way I'm taking 10 days off."

"Yes," Cuddy said. "You are."

"But that's absurd! She cleans bed pans. I save lives! Pretty sure I'm a more valuable commodity to this hospital."

"And the hospital will do everything in its power to make sure you get a fair and thorough hearing. That's all we're obligated to do."

"So you're going along with this?" he said, hurt.

"I have no choice."

"I can't take 10 days off. I'll go insane."

"Formulate your case. Gather evidence in your defense."

"My evidence is that she has concocted a romantic fairytale straight out of fan fiction! It bears no relation to this thing we call reality."

"That's not evidence," Cuddy said.

"Okay, fine. I'll think of more concrete ways to defend myself. That'll take—I dunno—24 hours? What am I supposed to do for the rest of the time? Overdose on Vicodin?"

Cuddy shot him an angry look.

"Don't even joke about that House!" she said.

"Sorry…it's just that my entire life is on the verge of collapse here and you seem singularly disinterested."

"I'm not disinterested! I'm on your side. I'm always on your side. But I have to follow hospital protocol."

"Where does that leave me?"

Cuddy closed her eyes, thought about it for a second.

"Here's what you can do with your 10 days," she said. "Put your apartment on the market and start packing."

"For my next job—in Siberia?" he cracked.

"For moving in with me, you idiot," she said, with a weary smile.

"_Really_?"

"Yeah…better call a piano mover, too. We'll need to make space in the living room."

It had been such an emotional afternoon for House—so full of anger and an increasing sense of injustice—that this gesture from the woman he loved was almost too much to bear.

He blinked back a tear.

"Thank you," he said.

_To be continued. . ._


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's our conclusion to the story. It probably doesn't need to be said, but I do want to make one thing clear. Ali is crazy and based on a specific character created by the House writers. Most women don't lie about sexual harassment or rape. (Sorry, just needed to get that off my chest. Now back to your regularly scheduled frivolity.)**

The morning of the hearing, House came out of the shower and saw a suit, dress shirt, and tie laid out on the bed.

"Oh my God, some guy wearing a suit disintegrated on your bed!" he joked.

"Put it on," Cuddy said.

House peered at the outfit more closely.

"What Wall Street broker did you have to rob to get these?"

"I bought them for you. So you'll look respectable—for a change."

"But I was planning on wearing ripped jeans and my I Heart Roman Polanski tee," House said.

"Good! Now you can wear this instead."

House shrugged a bit, but dutifully put on the suit—charcoal gray with a white shirt and navy blue and white pin-striped tie.

"I feel like a tool," he said, looking in the mirror.

"You look handsome," she said, attempting, in vain, to smooth his hair. "And, more importantly, you look innocent."

"I believe the great philosopher Britney Spears once said: I'm not that innocent," he said, grabbing her ass.

"Today, you're innocent," she said, squirming away. "And don't you forget it."

"Here's hoping a jury of my peers agrees," he said, making model poses in the mirror with his new suit.

"That's what I'm worried about, House," she said, with a fond smile. "You have no peers."

He shrugged, in a "good point" way.

"House, I need you to promise me something, " Cuddy said, getting serious.

"Sure! Anything in particular?"

"This is important. I need you to behave today in that court." 

"_Moi_?"

"House, your future—and, as a consequence, my future and Rachel's, too—is on the line today. So no matter how ridiculous, moronic, or inflammatory you think someone is being, just sit there and take it. Don't mock them, don't insult them. Behave like an adult. Act like your life depends on it. Because it does."

House nodded, earnestly.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"Well, I guess we better get this over with," she said.

"I guess so. . ." he agreed.

And she took his hand.

#####

It was set up exactly like a courtroom, except without a jury. The review board was watching the proceedings via closed-circuit TV, in a nearby room, to protect their anonymity. There was a stenographer, a witness stand, and even a Bible for swearings in.

A retired judge was overseeing the proceedings.

Ali was sitting at a table with her parents and Janet Boyd. She was dressed primly, in a sweater, wool skirt, and tights.

When she saw House, she looked down, like it was too painful to even look at him.

House had to laugh to himself: A far cry from the come-hither looks and midriff-bearing tops she usually sported in his presence.

On House's side was the hospital's lawyer, Arthur Pope.

The HR guy was in the gallery, along with Wilson, most of House's team, and Cuddy, who were all told they could potentially be called as witnesses.

The first witness Janet Boyd called was Ali Swanson.

Ali squeezed her parents' hands and tremulously walked up to the stand.

She basically reiterated her story, just as Boyd had laid it out in Cuddy's office, and it was a command performance, with tears and long pauses to compose herself. ("Take your time," Boyd would say gently.)

Boyd had the photo of Ali's wrists blown up—and although it was barely a mark, it was there, a tiny redness, a scratch no bigger than a paper cut.

"Have the wounds healed?" Boyd asked.

"The physical ones, yes," Ali said, bowing her head. "Not the emotional ones."

House felt the need to applaud when she was done.

Arthur Pope tried his hardest on the redirect, but her story was diabolically air tight.

"If you feared Dr. House why did you accept the job at PPTH?"

"I really needed the job. And he assured me the past was in the past"

"When he pulled you into the men's room, why didn't you scream?"

"I was scared but I also didn't want to get him in trouble. A part of me still cared for him."

"And if you were scared of him, why on earth would you go alone to his house?"

"It seems so stupid now, but Dr. House can be very persuasive. He's this genius, you know? I'm just a candy striper. Sometimes he has a way of twisting things, making you do things you otherwise wouldn't do…" 

Etc.

House and Cuddy exchanged a look. This was bad.

And it was just starting.

Turns out, Boyd had really done her homework, seemingly interviewing every patient House had ever treated and every nurse or doctor in the hospital.

The second witness she called was Dr. Eric Foreman.

"Tell us what you saw on September 19, 2006 when you interrupted Dr. House and Ali in the exam room?"

"I saw Dr. House giving Ali a medical exam," Foreman said, shifting in his chair nervously. "He was using a stethoscope to listen to her chest."

"Was there anything out of the ordinary about the examination?" Boyd asked.

"Um, not especially," Foreman said.

"Not especially? So maybe _slightly_?"

"Maybe slightly," Foreman agreed.

"What slight thing was out of the ordinary about the exam?"

"The patient, uh, had unbuttoned her shirt."

"Was she wearing a tee-shirt underneath? A camisole?"

"No," Foreman said.

"A bra?"

"Actually, she wasn't wearing anything."

"So he had a stethoscope up against her bare exposed breasts?"

"That is correct," Foreman said, clearing his throat.

House gulped.

"Is it necessary to remove the patient's clothing to conduct a chest exam?"

"Not unless the patient is wearing many layers or a particularly heavy sweater," Foreman said.

"Was Ms. Swanson wearing many layers or a particularly heavy sweater?" 

"No."

"Thank you, Dr. Foreman. That's all."

As Foreman got down from the stand he mouthed to House: "Sorry, man."

Next, she called to the stand Bart Lemmon, who worked for the accounting firm the hospital kept on retainer.

"What's he doing here?" Pope whispered to House.

"No clue," House whispered back.

"On the date of September 23, 2006, did you have a meeting in the hospital with Dr. Cuddy?" Boyd asked him.

"Yes, I did. We were discussing our new data input system—which isn't so new anymore. Heh-heh."

House folded his arms and rolled his eyes a bit.

"Did anything unusual happen during that meeting?"

"Yes, we were interrupted," Lemmon said.

"Interrupted? By whom?"

"A man. A doctor, I think."

"Do you see that man in this courtroom?"

"Yeah," Lemmon said, pointing to House.

"Let the record show, the witness is pointing to Dr. Gregory House."

At the exact same moment, House and Cuddy flashed back to that day. "Shit," they both said, under their breath.

"What was the nature of the interruption?" Boyd was asking.

"He said, 'You can't stop our love!'" Lemmon said.

"Whose love?" Boyd said.

"I'm not sure. But I had overheard a snippet of their conversation before he said it. They were talking about pretty girls who were dangerous."

"Thank you, Mr. Lemmon. No further questions."

"I was joking," House whispered to Pope. "I was obviously joking."

Pope popped up.

"Before you step down, Mr. Lemmon. Was there anything ironic or humorous in Dr. House's tone?"

Lemmon thought about that for a second.

"Well, hard to say, since I don't know him that well. He seemed pretty emotional."

"Christ, I was pretending to be emotional!" House said loudly.

The judge banged his gavel on the bench.

"No outbursts, Dr. House," he said.

House sighed, remembering his promise to Cuddy.

"Sorry," he said.

"Is it possible that he was just pretending to be emotional, Mr. Lemmon?" Pope said.

Lemmon looked over at House.

"Yeah, I suppose so. Sure," he said.

"No further questions," Pope said.

The witness sat.

"I'd like to call Dr. Cuddy to the stand next," Boyd said. "But we should probably take a brief recess first. This one could take a while."

######

During the recess, House, Cuddy, and Wilson all stepped outside to get a bit of air.

"You're doing great," Cuddy said to House, rubbing his neck reassuringly.

"Sorry about that one outburst," House said.

"It's okay. I was feeling a little outbursty myself in that moment," Cuddy admitted.

"That Boyd lady is good," Wilson said.

Both House and Cuddy shot him a look.

Wilson held up a hand.

"Sorry. I'm just saying. It's empirically true."

"He's right," House said, miserably. "I feel like she's going to trot out my 8th grade girlfriend as proof that I like to have sex with 16-year-old girls."

"Very funny," Cuddy said. Then she frowned a bit, as if she just remembered her own future role in this little production.

"How you holding up?" House said, sensing her shifting mood.

"I'm worried," she admitted. "Boyd's 'this one could take a while' was ominous."

"That _was_ ominous," Wilson agreed.

"Stop helping Wilson," House said. Then he bent toward Cuddy:

"You'll do great. Just tell the truth. That's all you need to do."

"You make it sound easy," she said.

"It is."

Cuddy took a deep breath.

"I hope you're right," she said.

#####

"Does Dr. House have a history of sexual harassment?" Boyd said to Cuddy, before she barely had a chance to compose herself.

"I beg your pardon?" Cuddy said.

"I asked you if Dr. House has a history of sexual harassment."

"Of course not," Cuddy said.

"No?" Boyd reached across her desk, grabbed some files, began flipping through them. "Did he once ask his fellowship candidates to, 'Bring me the thong of Lisa Cuddy?'"

Cuddy's mouth dropped open.

"How would you even know such a thing?" she stammered.

"So it's true." 

"Yes, but it was a prank. Not sexual harassment."

"Did he once remark, in the lobby of the hospital, that you were wearing no underpants?"

"I. . .I don't remember," Cuddy lied.

"You don't remember? Wasn't, in fact, his exact quote: 'Skirt that tight you've got no secrets. Skirt that tight I can tell if you've got an IUD.'"

Cuddy's face turned bright red.

"That rings a bell," she said, shrinking into her chair.

"Didn't Dr. House in fact, often make lewd comments about your large ass and frequent low-cut tops in front of the entire hospital?" 

"Occasionally, I suppose."

Cuddy looked over at House helplessly.

"But that's not sexual harassment in your mind?" 

"No," Cuddy said.

"Apparently you and I have very different definitions of the word," Boyd said, smiling mirthlessly.

"Objection!" Pope said.

"Sustained. No editorial commentary, Ms. Boyd," the judge said.

"So you think a coworker making constant lewd references to your body at your place was not, in fact, sexual harassment?"

"No—because I'm his boss. He has no leverage over me. "

"So you're saying an underling can't sexually harass a superior?" 

"In this case. . .I. . ."

"That sort of throws a wrinkle into House's assertion that my client was the one sexually harassing him, doesn't it?"

"I'm not saying it's impossible," Cuddy said, quickly. "I'm just saying that House and I were friends. And, more than that, there was a flirtation between us, which obviously we have since consummated, because we're now living together. So no, it wasn't sexual harassment. It was a courtship of sorts."

"That is the least romantic courtship I've ever heard about," Boyd said. Then, she quickly added, "I know.. .I know. . . We'll strike that from the record."

Boyd began pacing a bit, her hands behind her back.

"Do you think his comments in any way undermined your ability to do your job?"

"No," Cuddy said, firmly.

"And if any other doctor had said those things to you, how might you have responded?"

Cuddy looked at her hands.

"Differently, I suppose." 

"So it seems that Dr. House gets lots of special treatment at the hospital."

"He's a very special doctor."

"So is it safe to say you created an atmosphere of permissiveness at the hospital, where House could do or say anything he wanted—even when it came to sexually inappropriate behavior." 

"That's a bit of a leap."

"Is it?"

"Yes. These were very isolated incidents and reflected more on the specific nature of my relationship with House than anything else." 

"Really?" Boyd said, clearly about to pounce. She flipped through her notes. "Didn't House once make lewd comments to a female patient who was a little person, suggesting that he wanted to 'take her for a spin?'"

"I…don't recall," Cuddy said.

"And didn't he once ask of a woman, to whom he was giving a breast exam, 'Good lord, are those real?'"

"I honestly don't know. . .I wasn't there."

"Doesn't he, in fact, often make inappropriate references to the sexual behavior of both his staff and his patients?"

"Dr. House has a …unique sense of humor. I think that's all you're talking about here. . ."

"I don't find it particularly funny," Boyd said.

"Objection!"

"Sustained. Enough with the asides, Ms. Boyd. This isn't Shakespeare." 

"Speaking of Shakespeare," Boyd said, brightly. "Is it true that, on May 11, 2009, House got onto the hospital balcony and shouted, 'I slept with Lisa Cuddy?'"

Cuddy stared at her, incredulously. Was this woman with the NSA?

"Yes. . .he did…but there were extenuating circumstances."

"There always are with Dr. House, it seems." Then she smiled at the judge. "Sorry, scratch that. So, Dr. Cuddy, what did you do when House announced his sexual conquest of you to the entire hospital?"

"As I said, the circumstances were extraordinary. Dr. House wasn't well. Later that day, I helped to him to seek treatment for, um, extreme stress."

"Drug addiction, too, right?"

"Yes, that's true. Although he's sober now. And has been for two years."

"Good for him. But I just want to back up a bit. You say the first thing you did when House made that sexually inappropriate comment was advise him to seek help?"

"Not necessarily the first . . ."

"What was the first thing, Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy's eyes widened. She had this vague sensation that she wanted to be rescued, but she was alone up there.

"I fired him," she said.

#####

They drove home from the court in a tense silence, and then—after putting on a falsely cheerful front for Rachel's sake—both retreated to neutral corners.

House went to the bedroom, Cuddy sat on the living room couch.

When Cuddy yelled at him, it was bad. But when she _didn't_ yell at him, it was worse.

He was miserable about what had transpired today: Thanks to his past behavior, he had humiliated her, made her look incompetent, weak. The opposite of the truth.

He wished he could turn back time, take away every crude remark he had ever made to her— or to anyone else, for that matter.

_She's second guessing this relationship_, he thought. _And can I really blame her?_

The funny thing was, House wasn't even worrying too much about his own fate, which looked bleak. By anyone's standards, today had been a decisive victory for the prosecution.

So, if nothing else, his fear that Cuddy hated him was taking his mind off the case.

He tried, in vain, to read some sexual harassment law documents on the Internet. He was distracted. Was she going to tell him to pack up his shit now? (One small favor: His apartment hadn't been sold yet.) Or would she wait until after the trial?

Finally, at about 11 pm, he'd spent enough time alone with his own dark thoughts. He decided to go out and talk to her.

She had fallen asleep on the couch, a book tented on her lap.

He put the book on the coffee table, scooped her up, and carried her to the bedroom.

When he placed her on the bed, her eyes opened.

"Hi," she said, groggily.

"Hi," he whispered. "I just moved you from the couch to the bed. But don't worry, I'm sleeping on the couch."

She propped herself up on her elbows, gave him a hurt look: "If that's what you really want."

He squinted at her.

"What _I_ want? I assumed its what _you_ would want!"

"Why would I want you to sleep on the couch?" Cuddy said.

"Because of the case. Because of today. Because of how mortified you must be to be my girlfriend."

"House, I'm not mad at you about that. That's all in the past. Besides, that Boyd woman has a major stick up her ass."

"Then why the silent treatment?"

Cuddy gave a little laugh. 

"I thought you were mad at me!" she said. "I was the worst witness ever! It was like I was making a case _against_ you! I mean, with girlfriends like this, who needs enemies?"

Now it was House's turn to laugh.

"Oh, thank God," he said. "I could never be mad at you. You know that."

Cuddy put her arms around him.

"We're idiots," she said.

"Big time," he agreed.

Then, kissing him on the mouth, she said: "But at least we're idiots together."

#######

Day two didn't go any better than day one.

Cuddy was cross examined by Pope, but most of her take on Ali—that Ali was unhinged, obsessed, and that _she_ was the one doing the harassing, not House—was based on opinion and conjecture. She had very little proof.

House testified on his own behalf, but basically had the same problem. As he grimly put it later, "I was the 'he' part of he said/she said." Except that _she_ had a cherubic little face and years of House's bad behavior on her side.

By mid afternoon, both lawyers made their closing statements. And by late afternoon, the review board had come back with their verdict: Guilty.

House was to be put on immediate (unpaid) administrative leave. He had 14 days to file an appeal; if the appeal was denied, the hospital would terminate him and notify the American Medical Association.

On the car ride home, House glumly looked out the window, in silence, until he finally spoke:

"I deserve this," he said, quietly.

"That's ridiculous!" Cuddy said. "No you don't!"

"Think of all the crap I've gotten away with over the years," he said. "Now I finally get busted for something I didn't actually do. It's called karmic justice." 

"This is not karmic justice," Cuddy said, gripping the steering wheel more tightly. "It's a travesty of justice—and we're going to fix it."

Leaning his head against the head rest, House looked at her adoringly. He'd seen this look on her face before, most recently when she went up against those greedy insurance companies last year. It was a look that unmistakably said: This is not over.

#####

Five days later, Cuddy was walking to her office when she heard someone calling her name.

She turned. It was Ali, sprinting toward her down the hall.

"Dr. Cuddy," Ali said, slightly out of breath. "I'm glad I caught up to you. I know you probably hate my guts right now, but I just want to say: I had to do what I had to do. Woman to woman, I hope you can understand and, possibly even find it in your heart to forgive me."

Cuddy stared at her impassively.

"There's nothing to forgive," she said.

"There's _not_?" Ali said, scrunching her face in confusion.

"No. You did me a favor. I kicked that cheating bastard out."

"You. . .what?"

"If there's one thing the case did prove, House lied. You said it. The independent panel confirmed it. I was in denial. According to the review board, he slept with you, harassed you, and lied to me. I broke up with him the minute the verdict came in."

"You did?"

"Of course. If you think I was going to put up with that, you obviously don't know me that well." 

"So he's . . .what?" Ali said, clearly fishing. "Staying with Dr. Wilson? Or is he, uh, back in his old apartment?".

"As far as I know, he went home. All by himself, just licking his wounds and probably pickling himself in alcohol."

"Huh," Ali said, lost in thought for a minute. Then she snapped out of it: "Well, I'm really glad you see that it way, Dr. Cuddy. And, if nothing else, I'm sorry to have been the one who showed you the truth about Dr. House."

"Not your fault," Cuddy said.

"Maybe we could. . .have lunch one day," Ali said, hopefully. "I really admire you a lot and could use a mentor such as yourself." Then she winked. "We strong, beautiful women have to stick together, right?"

Cuddy gave a tiny snort. (_The chutzpah of this girl_!)

"Call my assistant," she said, strutting away. "I'll get back to you."

######

That night, there was a knock on House's door.

He answered, wearing a somewhat soiled tee-shirt and a ratty old robe, his beard growth several days old, alcohol on his breath.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said, when he saw Ali standing there.

"I know I'm the last person on earth you want to see right now," Ali said.

"Good, then leave."

"But. . .and this is going to sound crazy. I was worried about you."

"Worried about me?" He gave a bitter laugh. "That's rich considering that you're the one who put in this state."

"Can I come in for a second, please?" she said, sweetly.

"No way! You won't be happy until I'm rotting away in jail."

"Please? I feel like you could really use a friend right now." 

"A friend? A_ friend_?"

"I heard that Dr. Cuddy broke up with you." 

"Because of you!"

"I thought maybe you could use some comforting." Then she reached into her coat and pulled out a bottle of Southern Comfort. "Literally or figuratively." 

House cocked an eyebrow.

"The bottle can stay," he said, grabbing for it. "_You_ can go." 

"The bottle and I are a package deal," Ali said, pulling it back.

House sighed, theatrically.

"Okay, come in." He shrugged. "I guess you can't fuck up my life much more than you already have."

He took the bottle, poured them two glasses.

"You look like shit," she said, giggling as she sat down.

"Thanks Ali," he said, sitting in a chair across from her. "You're a peach"

"Why so far away?" she said, patting the cushion on the couch next to her.

Taking a gulp of the booze, he obediently moved across the room, sat next to her.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Ali said, musingly. "Like now suddenly, I'm the one with the job and, like, all this security. And you're the lost, needy one." 

"Yeah," House said. "Weird."

She began to stroke his hand.

"You're not going to believe this, but I never stopped loving you," she said.

"You're right," he said. "I don't."

"It's true." Taking his hand, kissing it. 

"If you love me so much, why did you lie about me?"

"It's just that you. . .hurt me," she whispered in his ear.

"I hurt you so you got your revenge by fabricating a story about me sexually harassing you?" House said.

"Yes," she said, climbing onto his lap.

"Are you at least sorry?" he said.

"Yes," she said, kissing his neck. Then, with a pouty lip: "I'm very, very sorry."

"Get the fuck off my man," Lisa Cuddy said, emerging from the bedroom.

Ali looked up, stunned, and practically fell off of House, onto the rug.

"What the hell is she doing here?" she said to House.

"Her? She belongs here. You, on the other hand, don't."

Ali stood up, folded her arms, trying to figure out their game.

"I don't get this," she said to Cuddy. "You told me you broke up with him."

"I lied," Cuddy said.

"Why?"

"Because you're so predictable, Ali. We knew you'd come here. We knew you'd try to hit on House."

Ali jut out her chin.

"So what? What's changed? It's still your word against mine! This is just going to seem like a desperate, last minute attempt to reverse the verdict."

"Maybe," House said, smiling at Cuddy. "Or maybe not." 

"Ali, did I ever tell you that I used to date a private detective?" Cuddy said.

"No," Ali said, her mouth dropping open.

"He used all sorts of interesting gadgets. Special cameras. Videos machines. Mostly recording devices, though."

And she pulled a tiny recorder out of her pocket and hit play:

"_It's just that you. . .hurt me."_

"_I hurt you so you got your revenge by fabricating a story about me sexually harassing you?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Are you at least sorry?"_

"_Yes. I'm sorry."_

Ali gaped at them.

"How did you . . .?"

House reached into his robe pocket, pulled out a microphone.

"Say hi to the judge Ali," he said.

"It won't hold up in a court of law!" Ali sputtered. "This is . . . entrapment!"

"It's not entrapment," House said. "Read a law book. If anything, it's an unauthorized audio collection—wouldn't hold up in a Jersey court." 

"Luckily the rules of the New Jersey courts don't apply to our internal review process," Cuddy said. "This little tape should more than do the trick." 

"And by trick she means: Getting you fired and me reinstated. And maybe they'll even through in a restraining order! It'll be like Christmas in September!"

As if on cue, Ali's waterworks started.

"You can't do this to me!" she wailed. "You'll ruin my life! My parents will kick me out! I'll be on the streets! I'll be homeless!"

House looked up at Cuddy, who was standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

"Are you at all moved by this display?" he asked.

"Not one bit," Cuddy said.

"Funny. Me neither."

"Consider yourself lucky, Ali. House could sue you for slander. Instead, he's just going to be content to never see you again." 

"Have a shitty life, Ali," House said. "Please _do _let the door hit you on the way out."

Ali continued to stand there, in a state of shock.

"That was your cue to go," Cuddy said.

Finally, taking the hint, she made a huffing sound, gathered her things and left.

"I love the smell of victory in the evening," House said.

"That went well."

"That went _spectacularly_ well."

"But did you have to let her crawl on your lap?" Cuddy teased.

"I was in the moment. Method acting, baby!"

She took in his appearance. Laughed.

"Is that also why you haven't shaved in three days and drank half a bottle of scotch?"

"Yes," he said. Then, handing her a glass. "Here, catch up . . .But fair warning, this stuff is putrid."

Cuddy took a sip.

"Oh my god, it _is _horrible."

"Come here," he said, patting his lap. "I'd rather have you in my lap any day." 

She sat on his lap, took her glass, and tried to forcibly pour it into his mouth.

"Hey!" he said. He swallowed some, but the rest dribbled down his chin.

"I don't want it!" she said. "It tastes like rubbing alcohol."

"When you kiss me, you're going to taste it anyway," he said.

"Oh, I'm going to kiss you, am I?"

"Yes. In approximately 3. . .2. . ."

She caught his mouth in a kiss, then seductively licked the Southern Comfort off his lips and chin.

"You wanna try?" she said. And she drizzled some on her cleavage.

"Good god woman," he said, licking her cleavage and groaning a bit. She could feel his erection against her leg.

"You are so fucking hot when you're violating New Jersey law for me," he said.

"I am, huh?" she said, biting his lower lip.

"Scratch that, you're always hot."

He picked her up, carried her into the bedroom.

"This might be our farewell spin on this bed," House said. "I'm actually feeling a little nostalgic."

"Then let's really make it count," she whispered. "You'll be happy to know I wore my red thong."

THE END


End file.
